Bleed
by tloyc2014
Summary: He wants them to be real. He so, so desperately wants them to be real. It was so simple, so harmless, and it became so complicated, so horrible, so quick... One-shot, rated somewhere in-between T and M for disturbing content, vague references to blood and gore, and possibly other things.


**I felt like doing something new, and I also felt I was taking too long to upload. Feel free to critique as necessary; seeing as this is the first _Five Nights at Freddy's_ story I've released, I'll probably need it more then usual. As a side note, this is somewhat reminiscent of a creepypasta story I deleted a few months ago called _Sleeping Screams, _in which a Jeff the Killer fanboy goes a bit overboard and winds up defictionalizing everyone's favorite Joker expy. That should give you an idea of what this is like.**

**Well.. uh... enjoy? Heh.**

* * *

><p>He is thirteen when he first reads about the horror series Five Nights at Freddy's; the horrors and wonders of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza frighten and intrigue him and he reads more and more. By the time the year is over, he is obsessed and wishes Freddy and his friends were real, to laugh and to cry alongside them, his idols are Freddy Fazbear and his siblings and he wants nothing more then to see them live.<p>

He wishes to become them, he wishes to take the night shift to fix them and to die by their hands, to save them and to kill them. He willingly believes the pictures and theories about the restaurant existing, knowing deep down that they're all lies and rumors, but wishing so desperately for it to be true that he doesn't care, and ruins his life in an unending obsession, driving his way of life to the dregs and squeezing every last ounce of fun before it dies and he is left with nothing but Freddy Fazbear and the restaurant that will never be.

When he is fifteen, he becomes obsessed with the darker aspects, the murders, the Bite, the Marionette and Golden Freddy, and delves so deep into the horrors that he barely remembers why morality is important, looking so hard for entertainment and a way out of his nightmares and boredom that he forgets what all of it means, forgets why screams of terror and pain are so horrible to others, forgets what it means to be human, forgets everything.

All he wants and all he has is Freddy Fazbear and the restaurant that never was.

He is sixteen when he dons the costume he spent a long, painful year making and wins awards and money with it, passing off the blood as fake and hiding the fact that his knife has been used. The crimson-red paint on his replica Marionette mask - a trophy, a prized possession, not meant to be worn - is not paint, and he knows it. The tears are his own, and the smile and the insanity lurking underneath are always a part of his face.

How much longer will he stare into the abyss?

When he is seventeen, his obsession goes to its darkest and worst level, forcing him to make it seem as if he is a bridge to a world where the restaurant, where Freddy Fazbear's Pizza existed, to make it look as if he is the only one who remembers, the only one who cares, and he goes to such lengths to make the authenticity of the "memorabilia" undeniable that he loses himself.

He had never imagined he would like the feel of blood seeping through his hands. The sound of metal piercing flesh, the sight of a child screaming for help and screaming in pain and the light in their eyes going away forever. When did blue stop being his favorite color, when did the dark red shade blood so often had become such a wonder to him? When did he become a monster?

He isn't sure how he copes, he isn't sure how he gets away with it. He knows by now that his obsession will kill him, but he's having too much fun to care.

When he is eighteen, he tries to put his plan into action, desperately trying to find someone willing to do it, willing to make his dream a reality, resorting to stalking Scott Cawthon to convince him his creation should exist, that for one moment he should allow himself to play God and twist his life into another direction.

It never works.

Nothing ever works.

He is nineteen when he finally finds something, someone that will appease his mad desires in the form of a memory from the world he so adores, the world he killed for. He performs monstrous actions for it, and it in return makes his life a wonder of its own.

He'll give the world a gift. _Th__e__y_'ll give them a gift.

It will give them life.

When he is twenty, he convinces a wealthy businessman to put his mind towards a restaurant, towards animatronics and entertainment. Towards Freddy and Friends. The strings never loosen, the pain never stops, but he's getting all he wants.

By the time he is twenty-one, he has begun to realize the extent of his actions. The consequences are only a memory to him, but what _he has done _is horrible and he questions his humanity. But he slips back into madness soon after, and the pain stops. He doesn't feel lack of control anymore, he's in control, he does it of his own free will.

He's laughing now.

He's laughing with them. And it laughs with him. At him. Its plan worked. His plan worked. It had its puppets and he had his friends.

When he is twenty-two, the animatronics have been finished. They look identical to what he had desired, but there's something missing. They don't move, they aren't _alive. _He knows that it will soon be better, that they will be themselves again, and he will have the friends he so desired.

And he lets it go for a year. The restaurant is a failure, an attempt to capitalize on a fad. It begins to sink, and he realizes it won't be well without his help. He's willing to kill to keep it alive, to keep his one chance going.

He had never imagined he would like the feel of blood seeping through his hands. The sound of metal piercing flesh, the sight of a child screaming in terror and in pain and the light in their eyes going away forever. When had purple become his favorite color, when had he lost his humanity? Where had he gone wrong?

He doesn't care.

He never cared.

His friends are here, his life is golden again, and the restaurant succeeds with its new-found "AI." The man who funded it does not protest when he is informed of the true source of the animatronics' minds, because he does not know the full story, he does not know that all that he has done has happened before and will happen again.

He is twenty-four when he realizes the extent of his dementia, and by now the Marionette has left him to drown in his guilt and despair. His friends were his enemies, he had murdered innocent children for the sake of realizing something that should never have been. He wants it to stop, he almost wants to come to the night shift one day and see that the animatronics are out for his blood, to feel the pain he inflicted and to die like the children, for them to do what he did. Finish the recreation, make the world worse when he had intended for it to be better.

But the damage has been done. They don't attack.

They won't, and refuse to, despite his questioning, despite his begging. They won't harm a friend.

He wants it to end, he wants the endless nightmares and the endless paranoia to stop, he wants to break his strings. But...

...he can't.

But it all happens again, and he feels strangely relieved when he hears that Jeremy Fitzgerald – a young man that's barely out of his teens, a teen still adjusting to adulthood, a frightened child who didn't deserve to be put through such agony, to die so soon – has been killed by the animatronics. He knows now that they are the Marionette's puppets too. They were always meant to be. They had always been destined to be nothing but empty shells filled with broken circuits and melting metal, kept alive by pain, anguish and hatred, driven by insane desires to end their pain and end the life of the man who caused it all.

Insane desires.

Just like his own.

Fritz Smith is twenty-five when he begins his final act of atonement, knowing well and truly that he has doomed himself and many others.

The calls begin.

And he once again, one last time, wonders why the feel of warm, fresh blood seeping through his rough, coarse fingers, the sound of sharp, jagged metal piercing soft, smooth flesh and the sight of a terrified, dying child crying for their parents and screaming in agony and the bright, innocent shine in their eyes leaving for an afterlife he had lost forever had been so fun, so nice. He wonders why he killed with a smile, why he had done it at all, why he ever wanted to be someone so horrible.

When the golden suit appears to him, he does not fight it. He doesn't hide, he doesn't run, he doesn't so much as raise a hand to shield his eyes, to shield himself from the abyss that is his own insanity.

He deserves this.

He deserves his hell.

In the end, its strings never, ever loosen, his pain never, ever stops, and he wonders for the first and last time before he loses his mind forever... when, exactly, did he first become a puppet?

* * *

><p>He is thirteen when he first reads about the horror series Five Nights at Freddy's; the horrors and wonders of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza frighten and intrigue him and he reads more and more and more and more and more...<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Aaaand we've entered an endless loop. One alternate title for this could be "History Repeats," I suppose, considering the ending, but Bleed - as in, "bleed over from another dimension, timeline or universe, often a fictional one" similar to certain Slender Man stories' ideas as to where Tall, Thin and Faceless came from and the basic idea around some creepypastas - seemed... better for some reason. That and it's kind of a sign, along with the summary, as to how crazy our villain protagonist gets.<strong>

**So... again, reviews are appreciated, I may or may not have a completely different _Five Nights at Freddy's _story planned, but time will tell if I can get over my own perfectionism - takes me bloody ages to get a single story out because of it - and actually, you know, post it. Wish me luck!**


End file.
